Wallflower
by RisingStar313
Summary: Most people didn't notice the woodcarver's daughter. Edith, on the other hand, notices everything. When she stumbles upon a plot to invade Berk, will she finally step out of the shadows to save her home? Or will she continue to hide in the background? NO pairings other than some Hiccstrid. Starts pre-movie, continues to post-movie.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, my dear readers. First chapter of my third fanfic! *throws confetti* Get excited. **

**Just so you know, this starts out shortly pre-movie, but the major plot will occur post-movie (it will make sense later). It's mostly OC-based, though I'll toss in Hiccup's POV sometimes and maybe some others.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD.**

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Most people didn't notice the woodcarver's daughter. She spent most of her time inside, and when she went out she never strayed far. She came with her father to the village meetings in the Great Hall, but she peacefully faded into the background. Teens didn't often attend, and when they did they all sat in a corner, talking amongst themselves. When the meeting was over, the narrow-framed girl stuck to her father's side, not looking at or speaking to anyone. She wasn't sure the villagers even knew she existed, except for the few that lived near her. But that was okay with her.

Edith Thornglen lived in a Viking settlement, on the island of Berk. Unfortunately, Edith was not a very Viking-like individual. As a child, she was often ill. She had always been thin, and ever since she was born, she'd had frail bones. It was hard, if not impossible for her to do the heavy work of most Vikings. A couple of times, she's heard their neighbor, Helga Jorgenson, call her a "ruddy waste of food and supplies." It gave her a sinking feeling in her stomach, but her father wiped away those tears and taught her how to carve.

She liked working with wood. It was strong, but also lenient. With the right piece, she could mold it any way she wanted. Sometimes people would ask for specialty handles on their weapons, or necklaces as gifts to a loved one. She swelled with pride when the customer smiled appreciatively at her work when it was finished. They often thought it was her father's work, not expecting such fine artistry from a scrawny, fourteen-year-old girl.

It was an ordinary afternoon for Edith. She sat by her bedroom window, applying the finishing touches to a knife handle. She smiled at her handiwork, and padded down the stairs to the shop, where she placed it in the box for Gobber, the blacksmith. Knives weren't usually special ordered, just a stock item. Gobber paid the Thornglens to carve the handles, and then sold them in his shop.

She had finished three so far that day, and was about to grab a fourth when Erik Hofferson stepped into the shop. He was carrying what appeared to be a mid-sized battle axe, with the sharp head sheathed in leather.

"Erik, how are you? What can I do for you?" her father asked cheerfully.

The Viking warrior smiled. "I am well, Olaf, thank you. Astrid's birthday is next week, and I figured it was high time she had her own axe, what with dragon training starting soon. Could you carve some designs in the handle, incorporating the symbols of the Hofferson family and the village of Berk? Anything, really. I'm sure you can come up with something good for her."

Her father nodded. "Sure. You can expect it in no more than five days."

"Good. Thank you." Erik shook his hand, and left the shop. The axe was left on the counter. Edith came over to see it up close as her father eased off the leather sheath. Already, it was beautiful workmanship. Each edge was razor-sharp with an elegant curve. The flat of the blade was perfectly smooth to the touch, and Edith imagined that the weapon would balance perfectly in the right hands.

Her father sighed. "Stoick wants me to work on more ships. He's thinking about another expedition to find the nest, and the last ships never came back. I'll be out all day, so the shop will be closed."

Edith nervously pushed a piece of dark brown hair behind her ear. "What if I tended the shop for the day? I've watched you do it for so long, I know what to do."

He looked hesitant. "I don't know, Edith. Are you sure you're up for that? You've never watched the counter for more than half an hour before."

She rolled her eyes at him, smiling. "I think I can handle myself. While I'm sitting there, I can work on some of the new orders. You won't have enough time to do it all on your own."

"Hmm…" He considered this. Then he smiled at her. "Alright. I guess I'm forgetting that you're a teenager now, not my little girl. You should be fine watching the shop on your own. Say, do you want to carve the axe handle for Astrid Hofferson?"

Edith's eyes lit up. "Totally!" Design ideas starting floating through her head. She grabbed a sketchbook and pencil to start drawing, but her father reminded her to finish the last two knives for Gobber first. Begrudgingly, Edith complied and grabbed another knife from the box. The evening passed in a blur. Whittling, sketching, carving. Just like all others. Before long, Edith felt herself drifting off to sleep.

She woke at daybreak, with her father gently shaking her shoulder as always.

"I'm off," he said softly. "You can fix yourself some breakfast, and then you can open up the shop. The village should be slow in the morning, so there's no need to hurry."

"Okay. See you tonight."

He walked out, and Edith rolled over, pulling the blankets in tighter around herself. She gazed out the window as the picturesque cliffs and rock formations that dotted the landscape of their island home. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to fly high over them, whishing over the open ocean. The dragons knew how it felt, and Edith wished she knew how it felt too. Of course, she'd never mention it aloud. Something like that wouldn't go over well, considering the Vikings and dragons were at war.

Edith sighed and stood up. She ran a few fingers through her stubborn, dark hair. Rather than being nice, straight and manageable, hers insisted on being an awkward mix of straight and wavy, getting frizzy in the humidity. At least that day was one of her better ones as far as that was concerned, so she wore it down. The choppy front layers dangled over her face a little, the way she liked them to.

After a breakfast consisting of two rolls with jam, Edith picked up Astrid Hofferson's axe and started to carve. The first thing would be to add a sort of grip, so the weapon would feel comfortable I the wielder's hands. Edith knew Astrid's hands were a little bigger than her own, and made it accordingly. Then she sanded it until it was perfectly smooth.

She was going to start etching the design when she noticed the box of knives still sitting in the corner. Her father must have forgotten to take them to Gobber. No one had come into the shop yet… certainly she could spare a couple of minutes to run the box over to him. The blacksmith was only a little way down the road. Edith set down the axe, locked the door, and with her skinny arms grabbed the box and left.

* * *

Hiccup woke with the sun piercing through his eyelids. He groaned. Time for work.

He hastily changed into a clean tunic, scampered down the stairs and grabbed a tough, tasteless biscuit on his way out the door. The familiar cold nipped at his nose. The ice would be setting in soon, he figured.

When Hiccup reached the forge, the door was open. The clanking sound of metal on metal emanated from inside. He entered, and saw his mentor, Gobber. He was a large, burly man with interchangeable hands on his left and a peg leg on the right. His thick blond mustache was uneven, and so long that he was able to decorate it with metal ornaments. A stranger to the island may have found the blacksmith terrifying, but to Hiccup he was an old family friend.

"Ah, good morning, Hiccup." The skinny boy responded with a small grunt. "Up late again last night, were we?" Gobber said, noting the dark circles under Hiccup's eyes. He nodded.

"It's not my fault Dad snores so loud half the night. Sleeping is impossible until he quiets down." The blacksmith laughed at that.

"Ay, that's true, for certain. Stoick can snore louder than a Gronckle with a head cold. Trust me, I know." In addition to being the blacksmith, Gobber was the head of dragon training. He tended to the captive dragons they kept under the kill ring, making sure that they behaved and did not escape. "Speaking of your father, he wanted me to stop by the docks this morning to discuss something."

"Discuss what?"

"Beats me. Listen, I'll be back in a bit. You can clean this place up, sweeping the floors and whatnot, but _do not_ touch anything else until I get back."

"Okay." Gobber disappeared down the hill, and Hiccup sighed. He grabbed the broom and started sweeping. "I just love my job," he muttered to himself.

He heard footsteps and turned around to see a girl walking up the pathway, holding a box. He recognized the woodcarver's daughter, though he couldn't remember her name. As (unfortunately) the only son and heir to the village chief, he was supposed to know everyone on Berk. He also remembered her as one of the few people smaller than himself.

"Is Gobber there?" she asked. "I need to give him these knives."

"Er, no," he replied, "but I can take them if you want."

The girl hesitated, but handed him the box. He studies the knives inside with a touch of awe. The designs on the wood simple, but smooth and beautiful. "Did you do these?" Hiccup managed to ask.

She nodded. "Yeah. Father's often busy with special orders, so he always has me do the knife handles. Tell Gobber that he still needs to pay us when he returns."

"I will," he said, nodding. "Thanks, um…"

"Edith."

"Right. Thanks, Edith."

She waved, and was on her way. Hiccup sighed and put the box on the table for Gobber. He tuned to get a dustpan, but in doing so he accidentally hit his pinky toe on the leg of the table. He winced. "Ow, ow, ow!" How was it that such a small toe could cause so much pain? It's only fun if you get a scar out of it.

Hiccup hastily swept the pile of dust and shards into the pan, and dumped them in the bin outside. He also wiped down the counter and reorganized the tools. By that point, Gobber was walking back up the hill. The rest of the day passed like they always did. Sharpen some swords, stoke the fire, get a couple new burns, break for lunch and do it all over again. He went home at dusk and had another awkward dinner with his dad. The man was massive, and ate about four times as much as Hiccup. They never had anything good to talk about, so they would talk about the weather or just sit in silence.

He spent the rest of the evening in his room, sketching, reading and twiddling his thumbs. A distant dragon's cry sent a chill down his spine. His father stepped into the room.

"Er… I'm off to bed, then."

"Alright."

"Good night."

"Right." Hiccup gave up on staying awake. He was beat. He crawled into his hard bed and lay his head on the pillow, and was out within a minute.

* * *

Edith's father was home a little after dusk. The day has gone off without a hitch. Only a few people had visited the shop that day, and Edith had made a lot of progress with Astrid's axe handle. She felt it needed something distinctive, something to represent the owner, but she was still trying to decide precisely what.

"How'd it go?" her father asked when he walked in.

"Fine. How was your day?"

"It was alright. The usual. I finished three heads."

"Good," said Edith, handing him a plate of fish and beans. He smiled gratefully at her and sat down to eat. Edith hoisted herself up to sit on the counter. Suddenly, she had a thought.

"Hey, dad?"

"Yes?"

"Have we ever incorporated dragons into the carvings?"

Her father looked up at her. "Not usually," he said. "Though that could be an interesting idea. What kind of dragon designs were you thinking?"

"I don't know. Something to represent the owner of the weapon. It could be one they share characteristics with, or a representation of the ones conquered in battle."

"I like it. I'll trust you to come up with the ideas for that."

"Okay. I'll be upstairs." She scampered to her room, possibilities sifting through her mind. Edith thought about what would be fitting for Astrid Hofferson. She was certainly a strong, fierce Viking shieldmaiden, despite her young age. Not even Mildew could deny it. She wasn't the friendliest person in the world, but Edith supposed it was because she was so focused. A little too focused, maybe. Also beautiful and well aware of it, though ready to take down anyone who would dare make a move. Edith smiled. She knew the perfect dragon to represent Astrid

Slowly and carefully, Edith started sketching the beginnings of a Deadly Nadder.

**Like it so far? If so, review! If not, also review! I would love some constructive criticism and I am open to anything.**

**Thank you!**

**-E**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi everyone! A nice thank-you to krikanalo and Guest (you know who you are) for your reviews!**

**Second chapter... enjoy, and please follow/review/all that goodness. Merci beaucoup!**

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Over the next few days, Edith finished carving and went over every detail of Astrid Hofferson's axe, making sure it was perfect. Only her finest work would suffice for what was sure to be one of Berk's finest warriors. She had taken extra care on the Nadder, capturing its image as best she could from the picture in the Book of Dragons as well as what she had seen from her window during raids. When all was finished and polished, she smiled at her creation. Any Viking would be proud to wield such an axe. If nothing else, the craftsmanship would get Edith noticed.

She went down the stairs as quickly as she could without dropping the thing. When she showed the final product to her father, she beamed.

"It's good, Edith. Very good. Much better than I was at your age." She blushed, flattered by the compliment.

The next morning, Erik Hofferson returned to the shop. Edith was sweeping up woodchips in the corner. Olaf smiled and placed Astrid's axe on the table.

Erik looked over the carvings, clearly impressed. "You've outdone yourself. This is fantastic. I'll give it to her tomorrow."

A bright smile started to form on Edith's lips, but it faded when she realized he was talking to her father. Of course. How was he to know that Edith had done the carvings? Part of her wanted to say something, but Erik was already paying and was about to leave. She sighed. It was probably best for her to remain in the shadows for now, anyway. The door swung closed behind him.

After the sweeping was finished, Edith's father sent her on a few small errands. First, she stopped by Mildew's farm to get a fresh cabbage and some carrots, and then to Bucket and Mulch's for a couple bottles of yak milk. She then dropped by the docks and got two salmon. Last stop was the bakery, where she got more biscuits and a loaf of bread.

The basket was a little on the heavy side for her, but usually she could manage it. She was struggling down the path when she heard some quick footsteps behind her.

"Hey, runt. Need some help with that?" sneered a familiar voice. She groaned.

"What do you want, Snotlout?"

The rude and brutish boy fell into step beside her. "What do I want? Nothing. Except for you to disappear, that is. You're already halfway there anyway."

"Do me a favor. Go away."

"I don't take orders from girly little hiccups."

"And I don't take crap from lumbering troll-brains. I suppose we're at a bit of an impass, then."

It took a moment for Snotlout to process her words. Then he scowled. "I wouldn't talk to the future chief like that if I were you."

She stopped and turned to face him. "Maybe Stoick the Vast is your uncle, but you realize that Hiccup is still first in line, right?"

He laughed. "Sure. Assuming he lives that long, and with his clumsiness, I doubt he will."

Edith looked him in the eyes. "You shouldn't underestimate people, Snotlout. It might just come back to bite you." She turned on her heel and walked up the path to her house.

"Whatever, Runt," he called after her before going into his own home.

Of all people to have as a next door neighbor, of course it had to be Snotlout Jorgenson. He was vile, arrogant, and really quite dense. He insulted Edith almost as much as he did Hiccup, and he never missed an opportunity to try and push her buttons. Not that she was particularly affected by it. Edith was not one to succumb to the antics of bullies like Snotlout, who had no other way to feel good about himself except bring others down. It was pathetic.

She placed her slender hand on the door handle and pulled. "I'm back!" she called as she stepped inside, letting it swing shut behind her. With a grunt, she set the basket on the table and sat down. Her father emerged from the steps, clutching some small pieces of wood with holes at the top.

"Perfect timing. I found some nice-sized tree branches to make into canes and walking sticks. Would you be interested?"

"Sure." She grabbed one of the longer ones that was propped against the wall and started whittling off the bark. As she did so, she let her mind wander. She thought about what it would look like if she sailed to the end of the world. What did it look like beyond? Would it just be an endless sky, or a pit of blackness? She wondered if dragons could still fly beyond the ends of the earth, if they didn't need to touch the ground. Her thoughts then drifted randomly, from Gobber's endless set of interchangeable hands to the upcoming Snogeltag to her strong desire to punch Snotlout in the face. Unfortunately, the latter was impossible to accomplish without breaking her hand. Still, maybe whack him with thick branch…

Edith looked down at the walking stick. Without realizing it, she had been carving the head of a dragon on the end. But instead of bearing its teeth like they usually would, it looked calm, almost smiling. Edith shook her head, baffled. Dragons weren't friendly. They were ferocious killers that all Vikings should fear. Weren't they?

The sky had begun to darken, so Edith set aside her work and lit a fire for cooking in the back room. She roasted one of the fresh salmon and cut it in half. As usual, she took the tail half, and gave her father the part with the head. Something about seeing the eyes of what she was eating was a bit much for Edith. She also cut three slices of bread, one for herself and two for her father, sliced a couple of carrots and poured two cups of yak milk. "Dinner's ready!" she called.

Her father came in the doorway from the shop and sat down at the table. They ate in silence. When they were done, Edith washed the dished and placed them back on the shelf. She went back to her worktable and finished up the dragon head walking stick, keeping the smile, but making the eyes fiercer. After all, no Viking on Berk would buy a walking stick with a _happy _dragon.

The hour was late. Edith went upstairs to her bedroom. She changed out of her tunic and into a softer nightshirt, leaving her leggings on. After saying good night to her father, she crawled under the warm blankets, sighing. In doing so, she wasn't sure if she was content, exhausted, or wistful. Maybe all three? It confused her, but she pushed it aside.

Edith gazed out the window at the night sky and counted the stars. As she did, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and her vision blurred. Finally, she gave in to sleep.

_CRASH._

Edith woke with a start at hearing the commotion outside. She peeked tentatively out her window, and her breath caught in her throat as her suspicions were confirmed.

Rooftops were burning, and the younger Vikings were frantically dousing them with water. The adults grabbed weapons and fearlessly plunged forth into the fray.

Dragon raid.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Salutations, my friends! The next chapter is up... get excited.**

**A big thank-you to koryandrs, KaseyKay10 and Doc the medic for their reviews!**

**And now, on with the story.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own HTTYD.**

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Without a second thought, Edith rushed downstairs into the shop. Once she was sure nothing inside was burning, she checked her father's room. The bed was empty, of course. He would be helping the others.

Edith could sense the panic. She wanted to help. Last major raid, six months previously, she'd stayed inside with a fever. Before that, her father insisted that she was too young. But now she was fourteen years old. All the other teens on Berk had been helping since they were twelve. Surely she was old enough to handle herself out there, even though she was small.

She spied the old bucket sitting in the corner. An idea formed in her head. Edith took the bucket in her tiny hand and dashed out the door.

There was a water pump out back, and she filled the bucket about two-thirds to the top. It took a lot of her strength just to lift it, but Edith was determined to useful for once. She stumbled out into the madness, looking for small fires to put out. She found a couple nearby, and sloshed the water onto them. If anyone noticed her, they didn't say anything.

Then Edith saw the inferno. It was massive, near the center of the village. She almost went over with her bucket, but it was empty. Besides, the other teens, led by Astrid, seemed to have it under control.

Edith filled her bucket again and put out a couple of burning baskets when all the air was pushed violently from her lungs, and her body was slammed to the ground. She blinked the stars out of her eyes, and in the distance she saw a Gronckle carrying away the very basket she'd just doused. It was full of fish. Edith cursed, and sat still for a minute to catch her breath. She then got to her feet and brushed off, but before she could refill her bucket, there was a gruff hand on her shoulder.

"Are you hurt?"

Her father's familiar brown eyes bore down on her, concerned. It made her feel a bit guilty. Not only for leaving the house when she knew he wouldn't want her to, but also for pulling her father out of his duty.

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Really."

"Sure?"

"Positive."

He sighed. "Alright, Edith. Don't scare me like that. Get inside. Now." She nodded, and started home as he returned to the battlefield.

As she turned the corner to her row of houses, she noticed a skinny figure and a weird contraption by the cliff face. It could only be Hiccup. No one else could have had the idea to build something like that. Edith lingered where she stood, watching him in interest as he pointed it toward the sky. A black shape panned across the clouds. Hiccup pressed a trigger, and a bola flew out with incredible speed. To Edith's surprise, it seemed to catch on the black shape, sending it spiraling down off Raven Point. The boy gasped.

"Yes!" he cried. "Yes, I hit it! Did anybody just see that?" At this, Edith ducked behind a pillar. Something told her she didn't want to get involved. She ran to her house and shut the door.

Edith didn't sleep the rest of the night. By the time the dragons retreated, it was almost dawn, and trying to get more rest would be pointless. Her mind was too active. All she could do was sit and carve absentmindedly until her dad got home. When he finally did, it was past daybreak. He looked absolutely exhausted.

"Most of the village is cleaned up. Stoick wants us to meet at high noon in the Great Hall."

"You should get some sleep, Dad."

He yawned, nodding. "Yeah… I'll get on that. Wake me up before the meeting."

"Okay."

He trudged sleepily up the stairs into his bedroom. Edith was grateful that he didn't get hurt. There usually weren't many casualties from dragon raids, but there was always a chance. They were Vikings, after all. It's an occupational hazard.

Edith was curious, so she stepped outside to inspect the damage. Several people could be seen patching up roofs, while others repaired the pens that held any remaining sheep. Children made forts out of the rubble, oblivious to the situation.

She knew that over the next few weeks, she and her father would be busy with all the woodwork in need of replacement. It was a good thing, Edith supposed. Certainly it would keep them busy.

In the corner of her eye, Edith spied a skinny figure running into the woods west of the village. It looked like Hiccup, carrying a journal. _How strange, _she thought.

Edith meandered aimlessly around the island for a while longer, until it was close to high noon. Then she returned home to wake up her father.

She pushed open the bedroom door. "Dad?" she called. "It's time to get up." When he did not stir, she shook his shoulder, first gently, then as roughly as she could manage. Edith sighed. "I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice," she said aloud to his sleeping form. Then she swiped the pillow from under his head and started swatting him with it. "Dad! Get up!"

Groggily, he opened his eyes and tried to take the pillow back, but Edith held it out of reach. Her father yawned and sat up, chuckling softly.

"Alright, alright, I'm up. Thank you."

"Anytime," Edith replied, handing back the pillow and giggling. She went back downstairs to the shop, and her father patted her on the shoulder on his way out the door. To busy herself, Edith decided to make some of her special blend of herbs and spices, to be used for dinner that night. She was fresh out of most of the ingredients, so she grabbed a basket and set off for the eastern woods.

Over the years Edith had discovered the best spots to find the plants she needed. There was a huge oak tree right by a patch of coriander, some cumin and parsley near a large boulder by the stream, and a fair amount of peppercorn and lovage in the glade. It didn't take long to fill her basket with spices, and she picked up some carrots and parsnips as well.

She was about to turn back when a bone-chilling screech echoed through the trees.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt as though her heart momentarily stopped beating as the sound reverberated against the cold stone. Never had she heard something so fierce, so strong, so utterly terrifying.

Suddenly she was breathing hard and fast, her heart racing against her small chest. Panic and adrenaline sent her shooting through the trees, moving faster than ever in her life. She was only able to calm down when she reached the clearing behind her house.

Once there, she set the small basket on the ground. It was a small miracle that no contents had spilled amidst her mad dash for home. Edith stood hunched over, resting her hands on her knees and realizing how winded she was. Her body wasn't in any shape for that kind of running. She figured it would be best not to tell her father, knowing he would worry as he always did over those small things.

When her breathing had returned to normal, Edith wiped the sweat off her brow, smoothed down her hair, and came inside. She set the basket of veggies down in the kitchen, and went into the shop to find her father, who was surely home by now. But when she poked her head through the doorframe, it was vacant.

With a puzzled look on her face, Edith called, "Dad?"

"Up here," replied a muffled voice from upstairs.

Edith padded up the steps and into her father's bedroom. A large leather sack was open on his bed, and he was packing up food, clothes and other small, useful items.

She stopped short. "Dad… what's going on?"

He met her eyes with a weary expression. "The meeting today. Stoick needed men to go and search for the nest one more time. That raid last night really fired him up. I was ordered to join them."

"Oh." The sound was so small, it was barely audible. Edith tried not to look too upset, but it was no secret that the searches for the nest were long and dangerous. She straightened, and cleared her throat nervously. "So, when are you leaving?"

"At daybreak tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Wow." Edith paused, briefly unsure of what to say. With hesitation, she added, "I'm assuming you'll have me work the shop, then."

He let out a deep sigh, but despite everything, smiled at her. "There's no one I would trust more." She smiled faintly back.

"I'll just be downstairs, then. Let me know if you need any help." Her brevity of speech did little to conceal her sadness and worry. She tread lightly back to her worktable, and picked out another walking stick. For the next hour she numbly traced the sharp blade against the malleable wood. The end was a wolf head, and it was very technically well-done, but it lacked passion. Edith sighed, and set the carving aside to make dinner.

The two ate in silence. The fish tasted burnt and the parsnips were undercooked. Edith looked down as she took the plates to be washed afterward. She went back to her carving until the sun abandoned the sky and made way for the night.

Two strong hands rested on her shoulders. Edith turned, and her father said, "Best be off to bed, now." He was then surprised by his daughter wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Be careful," she whispered.

"I will."

Edith pulled back, trying to show as little emotion on her face as possible, which was hard. "I'm scared for you. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing will."

"That's what Mom said, too."

His big brown eyes fell. It was a sore subject for them both. "Look, Edith," he said. "Your mother… she was one of the bravest people I've ever known. Stubborn a Viking as ever, too. When she went in to fight that dragon, she thought she could do it alone. But it was too strong for her. She miscalculated, and paid the greatest price. It was a mistake I will regret for the rest of my life. But I promise, I will never leave you." He put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him. "There are lots of younger, stronger men. Why doesn't Stoick send them?"

"He is, but some are still needed to help around the village. He's also taking more people than usual this time. Gobber will be staying to train the new recruits, but if you need help with anything, I'm sure he'd be willing."

He tried to suppress a yawn, but failed. Edith put her hands on her hips, and in mock authority, said, "Get to bed this instant, young man. You need your strength."

"Yes ma'am." He smiled, and the twinkle in his eye made a brief return. Edith followed him up the stairs and went to her own room. When she crawled into bed, she tried to look at the stars, but it was too cloudy to see. She sighed and closed her eyes, waiting for sleep that never came.

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**Please follow/review/all that goodness. Thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry this took so long... I've barely been able to get on a computer lately due to homework + driver's ed. Finally, though, I finished this chap. :)**

**Thank-you to koryandrs, Doc the medic and Sophia (guest) for their reviews!**

**Now presenting... Chapter 4!**

* * *

The sun was barely peeking over the hills as Edith lovingly packed a basket for her father. She included an extra pair of warm yak skin boots, two wool blankets, a bag of cheese biscuits, some simple healing herbs and a handmade good-luck charm.

When her father was ready to go, Edith offered to accompany him to the docks. He smiled, put a hand on her shoulder, and said it was best that she stayed home. They hugged for a solid minute and a half, and he left. She prayed to every god she knew to keep him safe.

Edith spent the day behind the counter in the shop. Several new orders came in that morning, which she started on right away. A few people bought canes and walking sticks, probably for injuries from the raid. There were even more customers that afternoon, and by dusk, there were so many orders, Edith felt she would need at least two weeks to finish them all.

As devastating as dragon raids were, they were great for business. Over the next few days, Edith was busier than she had ever been. Not that it was a bad thing. It was great. She was always occupied, and didn't have time to worry or think too much about her father. After the sun went down, Edith would flop gratefully into bed, mentally exhausted and with throbbing wrists.

It was the fourth day, and by late afternoon, Edith had finished almost a third of the orders. She went to make herself some dinner, but realized all she had left to eat was a single biscuit. _Well, this won't do._

Figuring she needed a break anyway, Edith grabbed a basket and a fishing pole. She went to the stream first, and managed to catch a perch. In the corner of her eye, she though she saw someone else dash away from the water's edge, but when she turned her head, there was no one.

After her catch was wrapped in cloth and placed at the bottom of the basket, she went looking for some berries and herbs. She went to her usual patches for the herbs, and found a chain of berry bushes near a grove. Once there was more than enough in the basket, Edith almost turned back, but something peculiar caught her eye. Stuck between two boulders, in the opening to the grove, was a shield.

Edith frowned slightly as she approached it. She pulled on the top edge, but it wouldn't budge. With hesitation, she ducked underneath and inched tentatively into the cove. When she peeked around the corner, she momentarily forgot how to breathe. A large black creature sat on the ground below her. It was crouching over something… or someone, that is. Edith dropped to her hands and knees, so as not to be seen. For a few minutes she watched the scene unfold with great interest. The dragon moved away from the boy, giving Edith a better look. Was it… Hiccup, the son of the chief?

The dragon broke a large branch off a tree and dragged it on the ground rather deliberately while prancing about the area. The end product was a very simple drawing of what looked like Hiccup. The small Viking stood up, amazed.

As for the dragon, it was unlike anything Edith had ever heard of. She knew that there were a lot of species other than the five common ones on Berk. Surely, though, she would have remembered a jet-black dragon with skin smooth like leather, wings like a bat, and, strangely, no teeth. Unless… no. It couldn't be. That was impossible.

_A black shape panned across the clouds. Hiccup pressed a trigger, and a bola flew out with incredible speed. To Edith's surprise, it seemed to catch on the black shape, sending it spiraling down off Raven Point. The boy gasped._

_"Yes!" he cried. "Yes, I hit it! Did anybody just see that?"_

The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. It couldn't be, could it? Such a monster would be terrifying. Evil. The face of horror. But this dragon? If anything, it was… cute.

Hiccup took a step, and Edith tensed as the dragon bared his teeth and growled. _Huh. That's funny. I could've sworn he didn't have teeth._ He winced, lifted his foot, and the dragon went back to normal. He repeated this twice, and the third time, he placed his foot over the line, rather than on it.

The small boy maneuvered carefully across the picture, making sure not to step on the lines. In doing so, he got closer and closer to where the dragon sat, until it was breathing down his neck. He paused and turned to face it. Hiccup stretched out a hand, but the dragon tensed. Edith held her breath as Hiccup turned away, and held out his hand toward the dragon's snout. It closed its eyes and pressed its nose to his palm.

That was enough for her. Edith quietly scampered away from the grove, taking deep breaths. She didn't quite understand what she just saw, but something in her gut told her it was important. Something big was coming.

* * *

Over the next week, word spread over the village about the amazing skill of the chief's son in dragon training. Apparently he had subdued a Zippleback singlehandedly, and made a Gronckle go loopy. No one knew his secret, and he never revealed his tricks. Obviously, this only made villagers more curious.

Unfortunately, Edith's details on the situation were limited to what she heard from customers. There were lots of crazy theories on what caused the massive change in Hiccup. He'd been blessed by the gods, he'd been visited by the Bork the Bold's ghost, he had supernatural powers over the minds of all dragons. She couldn't tell them what she knew- that Hiccup had a Night Fury hidden in the woods.

It was almost nightfall when the door creaked open. Gobber thumped in. "Hello there, lass."

"Hi, Gobber. Can I help you?"

"Yeah. I don't suppose you have some extra wood I can use as handles, do you? With all that's going on, I keep forgetting to cut some, and I need to finish three hammers tonight."

"No problem. Will oak work?"

"Perfect."

Edith went to the back and looked through the stock of wood pieces. Once she found three of them to her liking, she brought them back to the counter. "Here you are."

Gobber inspected the pieces, and nodded approvingly. "Aye, that'll do. Thanks, um…"

"Edith."

"Right. See you, Edith." He tromped out.

Figuring that he was probably the last customer for the day, Edith started to lock up. She was about to go upstairs when she heard a rustle in the backroom. She paused. Her pulse quickened when she heard it again. Slowly, she crept toward the doorway, holding a cane for protection against whatever was lurking inside.

The rustling came from the corner, where her father kept a small barrel of grain for the dead of winter, when they sometimes couldn't leave the house for days because of snow. Edith prodded the area with the cane, and let out a startled cry as a tiny dragon leaped out. It was only about a foot long, and she recognized it as a Terrible Terror. Despite the name, it didn't look particularly terrible as it cocked its head and rubbed against Edith's legs.

It clearly wasn't hostile, but she still didn't want a mini-dragon running around her home at night. After several tries, Edith managed to herd the creature out the door. She sighed, and went to her bedroom. It didn't take long for her eyes to grow heavy, and Edith drifted off to sleep.

She dreamt that she was flying. The wind whipped at her face, making her feel more alive than she had in a long time. The sky was her kingdom, and no one could tear her down. She was on top of the world. She felt… infinite.

Then, suddenly, the air beneath her gave way. Her frail body tumbled through the darkening clouds, landing amongst the thickets and weeds. Down the precipice she rolled and rolled as her fragile bones shattered one by one, and she was certain that death was upon her…

Edith woke in a cold sweat. It took a minute to steady her breathing. She checked her arms and ribs, even though she knew nothing was actually broken. Still, the memory of pain haunted her… an agony that she only truly experienced at the tender age of eight, but that she would never forget as long as she lived.

"Why me?" she mumbled sleepily as she lay her head back on the pillow. "I'm never going to be normal, am I?" It wasn't even a question. It was something she knew with absolute certainty. It lingered in her mind every day.

Nope. Edith Thornglen would never be normal. But was that good or bad?

* * *

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